Early Magic
by Psi Fi
Summary: Dylan tells the Horsemen about learning his first magic trick.


Jack spun one of the restaurant chairs around, sitting on it backwards at the table. Dylan looked at the backward chair with easy amusement and Jack grinned. The older magician was far less uptight than his FBI persona suggested.

"Good morning," Dylan told his youngest protege. "Coffee?"

"Yeah, please," Jack agreed.

"About time you woke up," Atlas grumbled, though more from early morning grogginess, than actual irritation.

"Why?" Dylan asked, spreading more butter on his toast. "We're not in any hurry."

"Right. Sorry," Atlas agreed, though the apology hung in the air somewhere between Dylan and Jack.

Jack smothered a chuckle. Ever since the Horsemen found out who their real leader was, everyone deferred to Dylan a bit-only a bit, but it was still there. Jack admired Atlas for his skills, but he was abrasive at times and it was good to see some of his rough edges being knocked off. Dylan hid his grin behind a sip of coffee, his brown eyes knowing. Sometimes, Jack wondered how they had missed the wit in those eyes, even when the man had seemed to be bumbling around.

"What are we doing today?" Henley asked, eagerly.

They all looked to Dylan, enthusiasm building. One of the best parts about joining the Eye was learning just how much there still was for each of them to learn. If there was anything the Horsemen shared, it was a desire to constantly improve, a passion for new knowledge of their craft, and a delight in new ways to show off.

"You started off street magicians and its good not to forget your origins and to keep seemingly small skills sharp," Dylan told them, then grinned. "I thought you guys might like getting in front of an audience again, even in a small way."

"We can do that?" Atlas asked, surprised.

"Sure," Dylan assured him. "We can go to Hyde Park and get a bit of live practice in."

"Yes!" Henley crowed, bouncing in her seat a bit. Since joining the Eye, she'd been practicing hard at sleight of hand, one of her personal weak areas. Merritt remained silent, but he was grinning, shoving his hat into a more cocky angle. Jack smirked. This was almost like being told they had the day off, in his opinion.

"No picking pockets, though," Dylan told him dryly. "Let's keep it legal, for now, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course!" Jack agreed immediately, trying to look innocent.

"What were your origins, Dylan? I mean, we figured out the connection between you and Shrike, of course..." Atlas began, bluntly.

Henley kicked Atlas under the table, quickly inserting, "Oooooo, yeah! Tell us about learning your first magic trick, please? What was the first one you learned?"

Dylan gave a sardonic wag of his eyebrows, but his smile was relaxed.

"My first magic trick? Palm penetration, with a couple of dimes."

"How old were you?" Jack asked, surprised they'd used such small coins.

"I was four, actually," Dylan admitted, shrugging wryly.

"So, you wanted to be a magician, too? That young?" Atlas asked, a bit skeptically.

"I'd never given it any thought," Dylan denied, shrugging, then laughing. "Okay, fine. I'll give you the whole, sappy story. Truth was, for some reason, I'd been having nightmares and they were getting worse. I started off having one every other week and they had escalated to two a week...probably because I was tired and anxious about having more nightmares."

"What were you dreaming about? Was it the same dream, over and over?" Merritt asked, interested in getting a glimpse into Dylan's psychology. Dylan grinned and shook his head.

"I have no idea. Even then, I never remembered the nightmares, once I woke up. I just remembered being terrified. Anyway, this had been going on for some time and one night my dad comes in with a record player under his arm!"

"Whoa, wait, a record player?" Atlas interrupted, not sure he'd heard correctly. "Like to play records, vinyl?"

"Thanks, old timer," Jack retorted at him. "We do know what a record player is."

"Yeah, a record player, which I admit, at the time, threw me, just a bit," Dylan said. "Actually, looking back, it's not all that surprising. My dad was a great and talented guy, but he couldn't sing worth a damn. I actually remember asking him to stop sometimes!"

"Oh, that's naughty!" Henley protested, laughingly.

"Yeah, it was, but he really had a horrible voice," Dylan explained, with a hint of apology. "So, he comes in and he sets up the record player and puts on one of his albums. I was expecting something soft and soothing, something by Brahms maybe, but nah. My dad puts on the Fantasia soundtrack, skipping ahead to The Nutcracker Suite. I guess I looked puzzled or something, 'cause he turns to me, smiling and says, 'joy's a better cure for fear, than calm.'"

"That's pretty cool," Jack said, grinning. "I guess that impressed you, huh?"

"Uh, nah, not really," Dylan chuckled. "I was four; I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. I just nodded and let it go. So, he comes over and sits next to me, sitting me up against the headboard and he takes a coin from his pocket, tells me he's going to show me a trick. He puts his hand over mine, puts the coin on that hand and with his other hand smacks the coin and I feel it drop into my palm. I just kinda look at him and remind him that I'd seen that trick before. He grins at me and tells me he's going to show me how to do it!" Dylan laughed. "I was stunned. It never occurred to me that _I_ could do magic, too. But, he broke it down, showing me the different steps."

"You must have felt all grown-up," Henley speculated, grinning.

"Yeah, I did a bit," Dylan agreed, bashfully. "I mean, here my dad was showing me his secrets, how to do all these wonderful things...or at least one wonderful thing. We kept practicing, until I started falling asleep. He tucked me back in, got up...and I was asleep, before he reached my door."

"Did that help with the nightmares?" Jack asked.

"Yeah. It was months, before I had another one. After that, I didn't have them often, but when I did, Dad would play a record and teach me a new trick."

Dylan finished his tale by taking a bite of his toast. The Horsemen each stopped smiling, falling into a bittersweet reverie. They had spent a year together, perfecting their act, then another month or two performing the shows Dylan had created. The Horsemen were still getting to know Dylan Rhodes, getting acquainted with him. Now, they had a clearer understanding of what Dylan had lost...what Bradley and the safe company had cost him, when he was still so very young. They looked at each other, silently agreeing they were glad they'd helped Dylan get his revenge. Dylan seemed to sense something, because he looked up, catching their expressions. He smiled sardonically.

"You realize that was a happy story, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Jack agreed energetically, grabbing some bacon from the serving platter. "Your dad sounds awesome."

"I'll just be happy to get to Hyde park and get some practice in," Merritt declared loudly. "Doesn't pay to let the brain get fuzzy."

"You don't seem to be worried about other parts of you," Atlas retorted.

Dylan chuckled, winking at Henley, before rolling his eyes. Henley giggled, throwing a few grapes at Atlas and Merritt. Dylan sat back with his coffee and toast, watching contentedly. They were a bunch of smart asses, yes, but they were talented smart asses. Underneath the sarcasm, he knew they were also good people, people with bright futures, under the ever-watchful Eye.


End file.
